The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP

by J. C. Williams

  “What’s that?” asked Ray. “I can’t hear you,” complained Ray.

  “Nothing!” replied Grandad testily. And then, “Soddin’ thing’s not working,” he said, muttering to himself once again. “Bloody valve must be blocked or something,” he pondered aloud. “Most vexing,” he said, twisting the spray valve this way and that.

  “What?” asked Ray.

  “Nothing!” replied Grandad once more. And then, for reasons known only to Grandad, he pointed the nozzle skyward, and proceeded to then place his head directly over the nozzle, gazing down at the opening like an inquisitive horse into a bucket of oats. He closed one eye — for this would certainly enhance his divining skills, he reasoned — and, sensing Ray’s increasing frustration, he began to shake the hosepipe with one hand, and moving the nozzle ever closer to his face with the other until it was mere millimetres away from his nose.

  A three-year-old could see what was about to happen. As could Ray, who’d now settled himself down onto the ground in an effort to ease the strain on his knees, planting his buttocks of recent offence comfortably on the concrete walkway as he placidly watched on, waiting for the inevitable to happen. “Do you reckon that’s really a good idea, waving that thing about in your face?” he sighed, offering his friend a half-hearted warning.

  “No, no,” said Grandad, giving the hose one final frustrated shake. “The thing’s completely…”

  And it was at this exact moment that Jack released the kink he’d made in the hose. The hose was attached to one of the sinks in the kitchen and run out the back door of the coffee shop, and Jack had been watching on, waiting for just such an opportunity as this to arise. And so it had. And, as he released the blockage he’d made and reintroduced the flow of water, a geyser rushed up towards Grandad’s face like Yellowstone Park’s Old Faithful erupting. The resulting burst of H2O forced Grandad’s skin back, offering him an instant facelift and taking at least twenty years off him.

  “Bastard!” screamed a spluttering Grandad, quickly lowering the currently blockage-free hose, but with the water, in the process, now redirected to his trousers and soon giving the impression he’d pissed himself — and a particularly impressive piss, at that.

  Grandad struggled with the valve, eventually closing it to stem the tide, but he was now sodden like a drowned rat, much to the amusement of a howling Ray. “Just clean that van, you!” barked Grandad to Ray, and now realising what the cause of the previous blockage had been on account of the laughter presently emanating from the coffee shop’s kitchen area. He recognised the laughter as Jack’s, and the evil nature of it made clear to Grandad that Jack was in fact the source of Grandad’s current predicament. “I’m going to stick this hosepipe so far up your ring-piece, Jack Tate, that you’ll think you’ve had a bloody colonic irrigation!” Grandad shouted to the heavens. “As God is my witness!”

  Soon enough, Grandad was dried off and the bus left glistening, thanks in the main to Ray’s sterling efforts. Jack was still chuckling to himself at least an hour later, and he kept setting himself off again and again recalling Grandad shaking the water away like a dog stepping out of the bath.

  Ahead of the grand unveiling, Jack had placed a ceremonial ribbon secured by two brass poles in front of the bus entrance door, ready and waiting for the mayor’s scissors. In addition, Hayley, the florist who owned the shop next door, had created a vibrant floral display next to the bus to bring a touch of colour to an otherwise overcast day. For some reason, Jack still found himself blushing in Hayley’s presence. The reddening of his cheeks was due, in part, to the recollection of the time before he’d somehow, most miraculously, managed to successfully woo Emma, as before he’d gotten it on with Emma, Jack had set his romantic sights on his exceptionally attractive business neighbour. The fact that Hayley actually fancied women, as it should happen — and fancied Emma, in particular, as it turned out — soon put paid to any of Jack’s designs on Hayley’s affections, however. It was never revealed if Hayley had in fact always preferred women in general over men, or if this, rather, was a direct result of Jack pursuing her. Emma, of course, liked to tease him by saying it was the latter.

  As the afternoon wore on, an eager crowd congregated outside the coffee shop. Most were members of the Lonely Heart Attack Club, and there specifically for the unveiling of the bus. But Jack had accidentally-on-purpose let it slip out that Pete’s husband, Kelvin Reed — gardening TV superstar extraordinaire — was also going to be putting in an appearance, and with this timely bit of information serving to generate additional interest and boost attendance, as hoped for. Jack also advertised the ribbon-cutting time as being half an hour earlier than it actually was due to happen. He wasn’t daft, and knew the waiting crowd would be thirsty and end up in need of liquid refreshment… which he, naturally, would be on hand for and happy to provide via the services of his coffee shop. He was most obliging like that, was Jack, and a crafty devil to boot.

  “She looks amazing, our new machine,” said Emma, taking advantage of a brief break from the coffee shop during a lull in customers, and joining Jack outside. She linked his arm together with hers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, staring doe-eyed at her man. “You know what I admire about you?” she asked, rising up on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “My wit?” he offered drolly. “My sense of style? My charisma? My sheer animal magnetism?” he went on. “We could literally be here all day, Emma,” he said with a smirk. “Oh, wait, hang on, I know,” he added, an afterthought coming to mind. “Is it my sexual prowess?” he asked, and with absolutely no attempt to lower his voice for the fifty or so people stood nearby. “It is, isn’t it? It’s my sexual prowess,” he declared confidently. “It must be,” he said. He lifted his chin and sniffed the air. “Yes, quite,” he said, confirming his own suspicions.

  “If you think it’s that, then seriously, think again,” Emma replied with a laugh. She scoffed, holding up her sagging pinkie finger to illustrate to those who’d turned around that this was in point of fact the state of Jack’s todger.

  “You wouldn’t want it as a wart on your face,” said Jack, swatting her hand away.

  “No, what I actually admire about you, Jack Tate, amongst other things, and being perfectly serious now, is your ability to make things happen.”

  “Oh?” replied Jack, flattered enough, but at the same time a little surprised by this observation.

  Emma felt the need to qualify her statement, and to perhaps elaborate a bit more. She tilted her head to one side, addressing him thoughtfully. “Before we got together…” she began. “Before we got together, back when I was just your employee—”

  “Yes?” interrupted Jack, with an expectant smile emerging, wondering if she was going to perhaps talk about how he’d influenced her career, or something to that effect.

  “… you were pretty shit,” Emma stated flatly, finishing her sentence.

  Jack’s shoulders deflated with that stark assessment.

  Emma gripped his hand tighter. “No, listen. What I mean is that everything would take you an age to do anything.”

  Jack moved to counter this, raising his finger in protest, but before he could, Emma swiftly presented her well-thought-out evidence like a veteran QC…

  “You promised me you’d paint the front of the shop, and that took about nine months, and you only did it after I bought the paint. In fact, did you ever pay me back for that, come to think of it? I don’t think you ever did,” she said. “Oh,” she added, now on a roll, “Remember when you had the bright idea of hiring an allotment so you could grow vegetables for our homemade soup? Three years you had it before they had to evict you to make way for someone who’d actually use it, because the only thing you managed to grow were weeds.”

  “Erm, I was under the distinct impression this was going to be a conversation about what you admire about me…?” replied Jack unhappily, weaving his arm out and away from hers and then crossing both of his arms over
his chest. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful or anything, but what you’re on about isn’t exactly complimentary, now is it,” he declared, pouting.

  “I was! I mean… I am. Getting there, that is,” said Emma, offering up a further peck on his cheek. “My point is, knowing how you were only a few short years ago, and then seeing you now, it’s quite a dramatic change, isn’t it?” she told him. “And a wonderful change,” she added.

  “Hmm,” replied Jack, unhooking one of his crossed arms and raising up his hand to tap his cheek to ponder this new praise, which he was enjoying a great deal better, actually, as it seemed to him much more satisfyingly praise-like in nature. “Now would you say…” he proposed, “would you say it’s an impressive change, perhaps? … A remarkable change? … An… extraordinary change, even?”

  “If you like. Sure,” said Emma, laughing.

  “Well, then,” said Jack, nodding in approval. “Do carry on.”

  “A couple of years ago it’d take three reminders and a court order for you to simply change a lightbulb,” replied Emma. “And yet here you are, doing this,” she added, nodding in the direction of the bus. “You’ve been instrumental in rolling out our clubs across the Island and the UK, and helped grow our business to where it is now. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m very proud of the man you’ve become, Jack. Exceptionally proud!”

  “I’m welling up here,” said Jack, dabbing at his eyes playfully. “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe,” he added, sniffling for extra effect.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Do you need a hanky?” she asked drily. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I can manage,” said Jack, dabbing at his eyes again with his own imaginary handkerchief. But then he looked up, blinking, and squinting his eyes.

  “What is it?” asked Emma, noticing something had caught Jack’s attention. But then, following his line of sight, she spotted it herself: a long black limousine-style car that wouldn’t have looked out of place screeching away from a corpse in a mob film.

  “This looks like it could be the mayor,” said Jack, answering Emma’s question. “And, if so, he’s right on time,” confirmed Jack, looking at his watch.

  It must have been a slow news day judging by the number of journalists from the local radio, TV, and newspaper, who’d all ventured out of their warm offices and were now huddled together sampling a nice cuppa from Java the Hutt. There was a buzzing heard from amongst them, and from the general crowd as well, as the mayor’s limo approached, but the sudden arrival of Pete and Kelvin at the same time just then was in danger of upstaging that of the mayor’s, with all eyes now being focussed on Kelvin instead, by both reporters and other attendees alike. Emma was closest to the pair, so pounced on them immediately, offering up a generous hug for Pete and then reaching for Kelvin. “So pleased you could both make it!” she said.

  “Happy to be here!” said the two new arrivals at once.

  Emma was attempting to hug Kelvin, but her tentative grip on Kelvin was made ever more tenuous on account of the two old ladies behind him taking a grip of his jacket and struggling to drag him into their lair like spiders who’d snagged themselves a particularly plump, juicy fly. Emma gave up the fight, for she knew this was a battle she wasn’t going to win. The amorous designs of elderly women towards Kelvin were well-established, and so any impediment set forth to try and mitigate these designs would have been merely an exercise in futility. And with Emma’s inevitable defeat, finding resistance an insurmountable endeavour, Kelvin was dragged further up the spiders’ web and delivered firmly into their clutches.

  “Bloody hell,” said Pete, addressing both Emma and Jack, and leaving poor Kelvin to his uncertain fate, apparently unconcerned. “That fellow getting out of the car over there. Is that the mayor?”

  “Nothing gets past you, Pete,” said Jack. “What gave it away? The limo? And people shouting, Oh, look, here comes the mayor, and such? Is that what did it?”

  Pete slapped Jack’s arm, not letting Jack’s playful sarcasm go entirely without consequence. “No, I mean yes I know it’s the mayor,” Pete clarified, “I’ve just never seen him in person as yet, prior to this, and…”

  “And what?” asked Jack, wondering why Pete had suddenly trailed off.

  Pete looked at Jack, and then over to the mayor, and then back to Jack again. “Jack…” he said, glancing over in the approaching mayor’s direction once more… “Jack, the mayor looks like your twin brother!” he exclaimed.

  “Oh, my word,” said Emma, placing her hand over her mouth. “Jack, he’s the absolute spit of you!”

  Jack shook his head in the negative. “Nonsense,” he declared, having none of it. “The mayor is a bit thin on top, and looks like he’d benefit from a trip to the gym.”

  “Yes…?” asked Emma, her eyes glancing up at Jack’s own intermittent shroud of hair — which, just like the mayor’s, was also now more grey than black — and then, glancing downwards to his paunch, “And your point is…?”

  Jack looked down at himself, examining his belly. He’d managed to lose some weight recently, which he was quite proud of having accomplished, but it was evident there was still some work to be done. “Oh,” he said, patting his belly. “Right. Yes, but still. I mean, you’re saying I look like him? I really don’t…”

  Jack had intended to protest further, but he didn’t really have a chance, as the mayor was then upon them.

  “Mr Mayor,” declared Jack, both announcing the mayor’s arrival and offering the dignitary a cordial welcome. “Thank you so much for coming along to unveil our new bus,” he continued. “I’m Jack, this is Emma, and this is our very good friend Postman Pete,” he said, offering introductions.

  “Former,” said Pete as a slight correction, extending his hand to the mayor. “Former postman, that is. In the gardening business now,” he added. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, pumping the mayor’s hand.

  “Yes, but you’ll always be Postman Pete to us,” Emma entered in, smiling fondly.

  “Cheers, luv,” replied Pete.

  The mayor had moved on to shake Jack’s hand at this point, and as he looked at Jack he had a curious expression on his face. He was smiling, but it also looked as if the mayor had a bout of wind, maybe, or was perhaps constipated. It looked like there was something awfully familiar the mayor found about Jack that he couldn’t quite place a finger on. “My… ehm, pleasure to be here?” the mayor said uncertainly, shaking Jack’s hand less-than-vigorously, as he was distracted and staring at Jack’s face rather uneasily. But then he was happy to move on and address Emma. “Ah! She is a thing of distinct beauty, and you’re lucky to have her!” declared the mayor.

  “Uh… I’m sorry?” said Jack. “Do you mean our new minibus, or…?”

  Jack had to assume the mayor was referring to the new minibus, but, oddly, the mayor had said what he’d just said while looking directly at Emma. And as if this weren’t odd enough, the mayor had been licking his lips as he said it, like he was referencing something very tasty indeed.

  “Oh, yes, of course! The bus!” the mayor added quickly, looking awkwardly at Emma and then over to the bus, which he appeared to have entirely forgotten about right up until that very moment. “I meant the bus was a thing of… I didn’t mean you, uh… Emma, was it?” he said. “Emma, I wasn’t saying…” the mayor went on, turning to include Jack as well. “I wasn’t saying she was…” he carried on, fumbling awkwardly. “I mean, she is, of course… erm, beautiful, that is… but I would never… that is, I was of course talking about… about… oh, yes, about that,” said the mayor, glancing over in the direction of the bus, as if he’d just remembered for the second time in less than a minute why he was even there. “The bus, of course! The bus!”

  The four of them, Jack, Emma, Pete, and the mayor, all went quiet for a moment, unsure what to say next, or what to say in order to make the situation a little less excruciatingly uncomfortable. It wasn’t long, however,
before the mayor excused himself to go shake some hands in the crowd that probably didn’t really need shaking, actually. But it provided as good an excuse as any, and it was one that was welcomed all around. And then, once the mayor had toddled off and was well out of earshot…

  “Fuck me, what a train wreck,” said Pete. “Jack, he’s even as cringeworthy as you are when you meet new people for the first time. You should ask your mum if she slept around a bit when she was younger, because not only does that fellow look just like you but he acts just like you as well! That dude has to be related to you, Jack!”

  Jack smiled a cock-eyed smile. He knew Pete well enough not to take offence at Pete just casting negative aspersions as to his mum’s virtue, and just rolled with it. “She was a popular girl, my mum, by all accounts,” Jack said with a shrug, going with the flow. “I’ll tell you what, though. If he looks like me, then he’s a good-looking bastard, the mayor. I’ll give him that much,” concluded Jack, getting the last word in.

  He may have been a bit clumsy on first meeting, but the mayor was a seasoned professional when you stuck him on a raised platform and threw a microphone in his hand. Jack was rather impressed with his doppelgänger stood alongside him on the makeshift stage in front of the bus. His ‘long-lost brother,’ as it were, spoke of the admirable work that Emma and Jack’s charity had undertaken to date. It was clear that the fondness in the mayor’s voice wasn’t forced as he then went on to talk about the successful flower wall world record, which he attended as a private citizen back before he was the mayor. And then he went on to recall his sheer marvel at seeing all the elderly folk at Jack and Emma’s Wrinkly Olympics, including his own nan, who’d participated in the caber toss event. Yes, the mayor was rather adept at working the crowd and making what was a simple ribbon being cut in front of a bus seem a rather more exciting affair on account of his enthusiasm.